But Why?
by Adsartha
Summary: Summer after sixth year, Snape sits in the Leaky Cauldron and thinks. And, well, angsts. Andrea Bocelli shows up and sings, making him angst more... Songfic, lyrics in Italian.


But Why?  
by Adsartha

  
  


Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, no matter what Warner Bros. says. Lyrics are from Andrea Bocelli's Romanza CD, and were written by A. Smith. Full lyrics and translation may be found at the end. Bocelli belongs to himself, and I just borrowed him for the sake of the plot. All are used without permission, and no money is being made from the publication of this ficlet.

A/N: Many, many thanks to my Beta, Jenavira, who keeps me on my toes. Also to Severa and Rhiannon, who keep me writing. And here's to all the Snape fans out there who provide endless debate! Snape's preference for brandy comes from Sev's "Bridges," and any number of ideas came directly or indirectly from other writers, I'm sure. Do please tell me if you recognize a source.

  
  


"Each generation of youth is sent out into the world as sheep in the midst of wolves. The danger, however, is not that they will be devoured . . . but that they will be transformed into wolves."   
_-Anthony Cromstock_

The Leaky Cauldron was packed, as usual, on a summer's Friday night. The less-drunk patrons' attention was fixed on the stage, where a young Italian tenor sang with great passion and talent. He was just ending a sprightly tune to enormous approval; when it was quiet again, he began a piece in Italian. The melody was nostalgic and angry all at once, and though most couldn't understand the words, they seemed somehow wistful and accusatory.

"Se fosse una cosa semplice  
"io te la direi,  
"ma c'è una confusione dentro  
"e qui attorno a me."

Severus Snape smiled darkly into his brandy glass. The work was one he knew well; at times, he felt he could have written it. _I teach the imbeciles day after day, and still they refuse to grasp the most rudimentary concepts. My only comfort is that Malfoy's lot isn't as far ahead of the Potter brat as he thinks. And the mind of that Granger witch!_ he mused.

"potrei tentare un'altra volta  
"ma non sono io che devi sentire."

_Not me they must hear, indeed,_ the lyrics guided his thoughts, dark as the corner booth in which he sat. _Soon, they will all be faced with a choice of sides in this damned war. Then, then they must listen to the depths of their own hearts. May they make a better choice than I._

He raised his eyes to the figure on the stage, serene amidst the tavern's bustle. Did he, too, understand the battle for souls being waged in the safest place left to witches and wizards? Somehow, Snape doubted it. His inbred cynicism overcame the shards of hope for understanding from someone besides Dumbledore. _Even he doesn't fully realize how important this group is._

"ma come fair a non accorgerti,  
"fregartene, andare via  
"con passi falsi di felicità,  
"ma il sangue è anche tuo."

_The blood is everyone's. It is on my hands if I fail to temper Potter's heroism with caution; it is on Albus' if he cannot protect the students while they're at Hogwarts; Minerva will blame herself should Granger not prove to be the greatest witch in many years. We are all at fault - what was it that disciple said? "All have sinned and fallen short," or something to that effect. I cannot bear to watch Potter's recklessness grow; he teeters on the precipice of becoming an automaton for our side. As bad or worse than the Death Eaters, he'll be a tool - a machine in the war._ He sneered briefly - it reassured him to know that he hadn't lost that talent. _So, too, my old housemates are pawns - but they made their choice willingly, more or less. The gods help us if their children are as bad as they, pre-programmed for Voldemort's minions. Is it harder to throw off your family's expectations of you, or the world's, I wonder?_

"siamo persi per la via,"

_Yes, we've always been lost._

"orfani di vita,"

_Potter, of course._

"macchine da guerra,"

_It is a choice, not a fate. I hope._

"ma perché?"

The tenor finished again. A stunned audience partially rose to its feet, as the full force of the music died away. Snape stood with them, throwing a few Knuts on the table as he walked out.

_Why, indeed? There is so little hope left - why bother?_ He sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. _Perhaps a bit of light reading will help. Thoreau, maybe. Or possibly Plato._

A familiar burning sensation grew in Severus' left forearm. _Or not._ He gritted his teeth, composing the façade that prevented an untimely death at Voldemort's whimsical hands. _Untimely only because Albus needs the information,_ he thought bitterly. _I often want to curl up and die at these gatherings. If only Potter learns . . ._ As he Apparated to his second master's side, the final words of the singer hung in the air.

"But why?"

  
**Macchine Da Guerra**  


Se fosse una cosa semplice  
io te la direi,  
ma c'è una confusione dentro  
e qui attorno a me.  
Tu preferisci evitare  
e forse la colpa non è tua;  
potrei tentare un'altra volta,  
ma non sono io che devi sentire.  
A piedi nudi camminiamo  
sui vetri rotti e poi  
con mani sporche ci tocchiamo  
ci feriamo fra di noi;  
tutti i segnali sono guasti,  
pallidi spenti nel buio;  
potrei tentare un'altra volta  
ma non sono io che devi sentire.  


Ascolta il tuo cuore se batte,  
guarda dove corri e fermati,  
ascolta il dolore del mondo;  
siamo persi per la via,  
orfani di vita,  
macchine da guerra,  
ma perché?  


Non c'è più tempo per guardare  
una stella sopra noi,  
è tutto prepagato, stampato  
e accreditato a noi;  
ma come fai a non accorgerti,  
fregartene, andare via  
con passi falsi di felicità,  
ma il sangue è anche tuo.  


Ascolta il tuo cuore se batte,  
guarda dove corri e fermati,  
ascolta il dolore del mondo;  
siamo persi per la via,  
orfani di vita,  
macchine da guerra,  
ma perché?  


  
**War Machines**  


If it were simple  
I would tell you,  
but there is confusion within  
and here around me.  
You prefer evasion  
and perhaps it is not your fault;  
I could try some other time  
but it is not me you have to heed.  
Barefoot we walk  
on the broken glass and then  
we touch with dirty hands,  
we wound one another;  
all the signals have broken down,  
pale and spent in the dark;  
I could try some other time  
but it is not me you have to heed.  


Listen to your heart and see if it is beating,  
look to where you are running to and stop,  
listen to the pain of the world;  
we are lost along the way,  
orphans of life,  
war machines,  
but why?  


There is no time left to look  
at a star above us,  
everything is pre-paid, printed  
and credited to us;  
but how can you not realize,  
not give a damn and go away  
with steps of feigned happiness.  
For the blood is also yours.  


Listen to your heart and see if it is beating,  
look to where you are running to and stop,  
listen to the pain of the world;  
we are lost along the way,  
orphans of life,  
war machines,  
but why?  


  



End file.
